Aeternitas
by blind4seer
Summary: How long can dreamers dream? [Dark is Rising X Harry Potter]
1. Prologue: The Coming

Prologue: The Coming

The train station was more crowded than usual. Cars, taxies and shuttles scurried frantically past the main doors like field mice scuttling for food. Everywhere one looked a dizzy dance of colors and flurries of motion met the eye as an endless flow of passengers rushed past from platform to platform. Like a painting by Claude Monet, the colors – blotches of crimson, dabs of emerald, and highlights of gold – seemed to melt from a far into each other.

One figure, at least, did not move. Far in his own small corner of the open air restaurant booth and dressed in deep indigo and black, Will Stanton sat sipping the hot tea he had just ordered. To the casual observer, the sight of a young man, about the age of fifteen, sitting alone and lost in his own private contemplation would not be uncommon. The thing that set this boy out apart was his face. Except for the slight movement of his arm holding the cup, Will was completely motionless as he stared unblinkingly at the crowd with his face set like cold, etched granite. Concentrating. Calculating. Searching.

Found.

Will's ice blue eyes narrowed over the top of his hot drink. There, in the shadows between two great pillars, an infinitesimal flicker so slight a normal person would not have seen it, winked in and out of sight. People walking past the shadows unconsciously hugged their jackets closer to their bodies and quickened their strides ever so slightly. No one walked through the shadows.

Quickly he gulped down the rest of his cooling tea and grabbed the backpack which lay at his feet as he stood up. Tossing the Styrofoam cup away in the nearest garbage can, Will turned and walked slowly and purposefully in the direction of the shadows. He could see and hear them more clearly as he moved closer to the pillars. And they could sense him as well. They attacked.

A sudden blast of icy wind blew in from the great doors of the train station. People shouted in surprise as hats and loose papers were unexpectedly blown away, and in that brief moment, Panic entered the building. But Will Stanton kept walking, completely unobstructed by the crowd and wholly unfazed by the frozen gusts. When he reached the edge of the shadows, they shrieked with anger, unable to muster the strength for coherent words, and they writhed with the pain only one of the Light could bring them. Will Stanton did not look at them with remorse or anger – instead his face was blank as he stretched the five long fingers of his right hand straight out at the shadows and said one word.

And both the wind and panic were gone.


	2. Chapter 01: The Arrival

Chapter 1: The Arrival

The train shuddered and jolted nervously as it clamored down the track bound for London. Will sat next to a window near the front of the train. He was riding backwards, and with every turn of the track, Will could see the rest of the train cars following doggedly like ducklings in a pond. Initially Will had chosen his seat as an ideal place to watch the other passengers as they drifted in and out. But it was Christmas Day and there were few passengers.

Will watched as the golden sunbeams from another dying day entered filtered carelessly through the windows of the train. The warm light changed the train – the cold steel lining the windows and the hard backed chairs around him seemed less harsh, if not even a little inviting. For the first time in a long time, Will succumbed to the peace of the moment and finally allowed his weary eyes to stop Watching.

The moment was over only too soon.

Will's eyes snapped open when suddenly a familiar rush of cold air filled the compartment. In an instant, his body was pulled tight like a bow string as he scanned the train car with the eyes of an Old One. But as soon as the howling wind appeared, it disappeared as the door connecting to the outside closed with a bang.

"Grandpa! Grandpa! Wow, what a pretty sunset!"

Will blinked. The voice had come from a very young girl who had just entered the train car. Beside her Will could see that her small hands tugged excitedly at the wrist of an older man whose salt and pepper hair spoke volumes about his age. From the long, slender white cane that rested in his wrinkled hands and dark tinted glasses which covered his eyes, Will knew that the man was blind.

"Carmen," the man laughed, "slow down! You make an old man trip over his feet!"

"Yes, Grandpa," Carmen said in a sing-song voice. "Do I get to pick were to sit this time Grandpa?"

The man paused then nodded. Carmen let out a small 'Yay!' and promptly led her grandfather to the seat directly across from where Will was sitting. Immediately, she let go of her grandfather's wrist and plastered her face against the window as if trying to absorb as much of the beautiful dimming sunlight as possible. The old man chuckled then stopped, and turned his head in Will's direction.

Will, who had not made a single noise since their entrance, felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise slightly. He could not see the man's eyes behind the dark glasses, but somehow Will could feel the intense scrutiny under the man's gaze. The sharpness in man's look faded slightly after a moment, and the skin around the man's eyes crinkled as he smiled friendlily.

"I apologize if we startled you earlier. The wind is pretty strong outside the train and I imagine our entrance may have been quite loud."

Suddenly finding his voice, Will shook his head. "No, it's quite alright. The noise wasn't that loud."

The man nodded, saying nothing, and felt his way to the seat next to Carmen. The girl was still watching intently as the sun began to sink over the horizon. The light in the train was growing dimmer by the moment, and Will had to squint to make out the man's hand as he laid his hand gently on the Carmen's soft head of hair.

"Carmen, you shouldn't look into the sun."

"Why not?" she turned and peered at him curiously. Will repressed a laugh at the typical seven year old response.

"Because it's bad for your eyes, dear."

"Oh…okay…" Carmen looked once more at the sunset then tore her eyes reluctantly away from the window. "Grandpa?"

"Yes?"

"I'm hungry."

The man looked uncomfortable for a long moment. Then he said gently, "Once we get to London I'll get you the biggest, most delicious slice of mince meat pie I can find, but until then can you bear the hunger?"

Before she could respond, Will had already found in his bag the small apple he had been saving for later. Gently Will reached over and touched the man's arm. "Here," he said, pushing the red apple into the man's palms, "I'm sorry, I only have one."

The man turned his sightless eyes to Will, and his gaze was filled with a mixture of relief and gratefulness. The older man handed the apple to Carmen and said, "Thank you."

The trio fell into a friendly silence broken by the sounds of Carmen happily munching on the ripe apple. By the time the sun had sunken below the horizon, she was already licking the remaining juice from her small fingers. After she was done, Carmen hastily wiped her sticky hands on her pants, and then let out a tremendous yawn. Her eyes blinked sleepily as she laid her head down in the shelter of her grandfather's right arm.

Suddenly the train was a glow with bright lights. There was a quiet buzz of the electricity as each light blinked into existence. "Thank you again for the apple. It has been some time since Carmen has last eaten. I did not get the chance to buy some food this afternoon." Even though the man could not see Will's questioning glance he continued, "We have been on the road for a long time."

Will chuckled, "I can relate to that."

The man arched an eyebrow, but did not comment. Instead he held out his left hand to Will and said, "I don't think I have introduced myself. My name is Tadhg Hayes. Most people can't wrap their tongues around the vowels so they call me Tad for short."

"Tadhg. Gaelic for 'poet', right?" said Will asked. Without waiting for a response, he reached and shook Tad's hand, "It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is William, but I usually go by Will."

The old man did not notice Will's omission of his last name. "Your accent is British and yet you understand Gaelic. A linguist, then?"

"No," Will said, "I just like to learn about other cultures and languages. It's… a hobby of sorts."

"Interesting…. As a child I used to love staring at the stars. My hobby was to dream of a place or a life far away from my reality," said the old man shifting in his seat, "Speaking of stars, Will, what they look like tonight? I have not seen them in such a long time."

Will looked outside. The moon was new, and the sky was dark in the absence of her silver light. The earth itself was also dark as a thick, formless fog had completely engulfed everything in the landscape. The only thing cutting through the black nothingness was the dim, glow of the small lights above him. A memory of a similar train and a similar passage through the Dark elbowed its way to the front of his mind. Despite himself, Will shivered.

He turned back to the blind man. On the lenses of the man's dark glasses Will saw his own ghostly reflection. "They shine as they always have," Will said, "But tonight, the stars have gone into hiding behind the fog and the clouds."

The old man laughed softly. "Good, good."

This was not the answer Will was not expecting.

"You are wise not to lie to a sightless old man, Will," the blind man smiled and continued by way of explanation, "I may have lost my eyesight, but I am not completely in the dark. My joints ache tonight so there is probably more moisture in the air."

Will grinned, "Do you always test strangers like this, or am I just special?"

"A little of both I guess," the old man chuckled.

"You know, the stars _do_ still shine tonight," Will pointed out, "The difference is that most people can't see them behind every else."

"Ah… the technicality of a lawyer you have. Most people don't see that far. Most mean to twist the truth and cover the rough edges with sugar coated words."

"Sometimes, they're only just trying to help."

"Most of the time, it causes more pain. Cripples are more resilient than what 'normal people' give them credit for."

A comfortable silence fell over the two. After a moment Will spoke up. "Traveling on Christmas evening is an interesting choice for a young girl and her grandfather."

Another long silence told Will he had asked the wrong question. Then before Will could change the subject again, the old man spoke.

"Carmen is dying." The three simple, unapologetic words made the shadows on the Tadhg's face deepen. Will did not miss how much older and wearier he looked. "We have been traveling, showering the cities searching for doctors who can help us with her condition. But no one – not a single one – was willing to help."

"The operation Carmen needs is highly experimental, and so far there have been no successful test trials in Great Britain. Those… those bloody doctors don't want to help because she might die. They don't want to save her because her death might put a permanent stain on their goddamn precious medical practice record." The waves of frustration rolled from the man's voice like an angry ocean crashing against a rocky shore.

"Why not take her to a country where the procedure has been successful?"

"We do not have enough money," the man said with a heavy sigh. The defeat in his voice was heart breaking. "And even if we did Carmen cannot fly on an airplane without complicating her condition."

"Does she know what is happening to her?"

"Tell me, Will. How would _you_ explain death to a child?" The old man let out a harsh laugh. "A joke perhaps? 'Death is like blinking for an exceedingly long time' you could say. 'Death is an eternity of pushing daisies'? Or a serious explanation like 'Death is a journey after life' maybe?"

"What about the truth?"

"The truth? What bloody truth can I tell her?" the old man all but cried. "My girl is dying and I. Can't. Save. Her. I will have to bury another one of my children. No one as old as me should suffer through outliving their children!"

The sorrow and anguish in the old man's eyes was unbearable. A hundred different healing spells – all from the knowledge gifted by the Book of Gramarye – raced through in Will's mind. The words of Power flew to the very tip of his tongue, and Will was tempted, so tempted, to say them. But no matter how he tried, no matter what justification he gave, he could not violate the Rules. He was a Watcher, no more and no less, and his tongue stayed trapped behind his lips.

Except after a moment, Will spoke. "The truth that you should tell her is that you don't know what death is. You should tell her that death is something you have to find out about for yourself."

The old man snorted, "What good is that kind truth?"

Will leaned his elbows on his knees and stared at the blind man intensely, "I don't know, but a man on a train once told me that 'Cripples are more resilient than what 'normal people' give them credit for.' It sounded like good advice at the time."

The old man stared at Will for a moment with his hands clasped tightly together on his lap. "Yeah…" he said distantly, "Yeah."

A loud scratchy voice from the overhead speakers broke the long silence. "Attention passengers. We are coming up to King's Cross Station, please gather your belongings and prepare for arrival."

The darkness on the old man's face eased and he managed a small smile. "Did you hear that, Carmen?" he whispered to the child resting on his arm, "We're here, and I can go buy that nice piece of pie for you now if you're still hungry."

Getting no response, he nudged the girl gently. "Carmen? It's time to wake up, child. We've arrived at London."

But she did not respond. Tadhg began to shake her, slightly at first, then harder and harder as each moment brought a growing urgency – a growing panic. His voice echoed loudly, hollowly in the compartment before it finally cracked and faded with the onslaught of disbelieving tears.

Carmen would never open her eyes again.

oOoOoOoOo

"Kid! Hey kid!"

Will raised his eyes and stared at the cab driver through the rear view mirror of the taxi.

"You know, I could drive all night, but unless you give me a place to drive to, I'll just be going in circles," the cab driver said. "Not that I mind, you'll be paying my bills either way."

"Oh, sorry," Will said. "Could you please take me to Charing Cross Road?"

"It's a long road, kid. Can you be more specific?"

Will shrugged apologetically, "I'm actually not sure of the exact address. I'm looking for a bookstore that is right next to a record store. I'm sorry, I can't be more specific, but do you know where that is?"

"Yeah, I do," the cabbie stared at the rear view mirror, "There's only one place like that on Charing. You sure you want to go there?"

"Yes, please."

"Look, there are stories about strange folk who like to gather over there after dark. They dress in queer looking clothing and they burn enough pipes to cover an entire block in smoke. Places aren't as safe as they used to be, and that definitely is one you want to steer clear from."

"Thanks, but I think I'll be okay. You can just drop me off a on the block nearest the store, if you're not comfortable driving through there."

The cabbie looked as if he wanted to say more, but instead grumbled something about harebrained teenagers and fell silent. Will settled himself deeper into the soft seats of the taxi cab. The cab was too quiet. Unbidden, memories of the night – of the frantic rush from the train station to the hospital and of hearing the doctor pronouncing Carmen dead at 1:27 in the morning – began to filter though Will's head. Then the cab driver spoke again.

"Kid, you look worse for wear," he said looking in the rear mirror, "I'll tell you when we're at your bookstore. You get some sleep. Don't worry I won't drive in circles while you're not watching."

"I'm not sleepy."

"Of course you aren't."

Will was about to give a come back when, suddenly, the Old One in his mind flashed into awareness. "Did you feel that?" he asked quickly without thinking. A warning boomed deep in the recesses of Will's mind as his eyes narrowed and scanned the houses around the car.

"What?"

"Nevermind. I need you to circle back around and go down the block we just passed. Quickly!"

"Why?"

"Just do it!"

The cab driver, confused, signaled immediately at the next light and made a U-turn. "Which block do you want me to turn on?"

"The second one to the left – the one named Privet Drive," Will said, "Where in London are we?"

"Southwest. Little Whinging, Surrey. Kid, what's going on?" the cab driver demanded. Will ignored him.

"Stop here, please!"

"Tell me what's going on!"

"I really need you stop here!"

"Like hell, I'm stopping here. Listen, I don't like trouble, and I am defiantly not going to go out of my way to risk anybody's neck you understand?"

"I don't have time for this!" Will cursed, lifting his right hand and pointing it at the driver.

"Then you'd better – remember to give my regards to your parents when you get home. Tell them I wish them a Happy New Year's Day!"

"I will thank you. You can let me off here – I can walk the rest of the way."

"Oh sure, sure," the cab driver said agreeably as he pulled over to the curb, "You take care now, kid."

"I hope you have a good holiday. Bye!" Before the cab driver could respond, Will had already paid the fare, and exited the taxi with his bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder. He barely noticed the cab as it drove away back to the main road.

Briskly, Will walked up the street lined with the perfectly symmetrical houses that were the hallmark of Privet Drive. In each yard, the perfectly trimmed bushes matched the evenly mowed lawns. Through every window, the same Christmas tree seemed to glitter and shine its light onto the street. Even without the growing warning of the Dark in the back of his mind, Will still would have felt chills down his spine.

Gripping his pack tighter, Will broke out into a fast walk down the road. As the numbers of the houses went up, so did the volume of the echoes of warnings in his mind. Will came to a stop at house number 4.

As he read the address Will snorted and muttered to himself, "Tell me the Dark doesn't have a sense of humor."

"You got a problem with our house?"

Will turned and saw the voice belonged to an obese blond boy with oily matted hair. A slender cigarette, still smoldering red embers at its tip, rested delicately between the chubby fingers of the boy's hands. Despite himself, Will raised an eyebrow and responded.

"In many Asian languages the number 'four' has the same sound as the word 'death'. It's an irony."

"For what?"

"Well for one thing," Will said absently, preoccupied with the house. As he spoke he began to weave a spell in his mind, "Even though you live in a house named death, it is that cigarette and your smoking habit which will ultimately be your murderer."

The boy bristled visibly, "Are you insulting me!"

"Nope, only your stupid choice of habit."

"How dare–"

Will didn't bother taking his eyes off the house when he pointed at the fat boy and froze him in time. The warning of the Dark in his mind pounded painfully at the forefront of his consciousness. Will's brows creased slightly from the throbbing pressure. He was puzzled. From where he stood, there were no visible signs of the Dark – no dark shadow or mist springing from crevices and crannies.

As he probed deeper, Will discovered the reason. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw that the entire of the structure was completely infused with a dense, highly complex web of magic that shivered and shimmered like a living shield. The magic surrounded the house in a sphere of golden light. The sphere was made of thin, wispy strands of energy that drifted lazily around the surface and interior of the shield.

"Is this man-made?" Will asked himself in amazement.

The magic felt like Wild Magic, but the complex weaving suggested a control which was not Wild. It was the first time he had seen something made by a human that was so close to the higher orders. Who ever made the ward was an excellent magic weaver, and by the strength of the magic, the Crafter was still alive and strong. Will scratched his head. He would have to be extremely careful not to alert the owner of the shield.

Will grinned. His face for the first time in a long time looked like the young man he was. This was the kind of challenged he liked.

Taking a deep breath to gather his thoughts, Will whispered the word of Power. Suddenly, his mind was plunged into the complex labyrinth of shield's spells. As his mind flew past the outer wards, Will saw and dodged the golden words which linked the spells together. He laughed in pure elation as his mind's eye zigzagged, spiraled, and zipped through the shield. The deeper he traveled, the denser the magic, but Will never missed a beat and never slowed down.

Finally Will slowed to a stop at the entrance way of the house. The final ward was the hardest one yet. Slowly Will began to chant a counter manipulation spell and the word strings before him began to change.

Suddenly, there was another presence above him. Through an opening in the shield he saw the dark wisps of a black figure cloaked in a tattered black cloth fly past high in the sky. A chill that seemed to cut directly into the bone spread around Will and he shivered uncontrollably.

"What the…?"

The shield, which had been lazy and even playful a moment before, changed with the threat of this new presence. The light golden strands turned bright cerulean, and they immediately began to speed up their pace. The energy spun faster and faster as it slowly began to constrict and shrink into itself like an alarmed pill bug curling into a protective ball.

The temperature dropped even more. A chorus of high pitched screaming cut through the night like a knife as more of the cloaked creatures joined in.

"Crap!" Will said through chattering teeth when he saw that his narrow escape route back out of the shield had collapsed into itself. "This is not good! If my mind gets trapped in here… think, think!"

Will stared at the bright blue energy shield which threatened to crush his mind, and he stared at the Shadows surrounding the outside of the shield. Even if he did make it out of the shield without being mentally damaged, he'd be caught by the Shadows. Will grimaced. There was only one way.

"So much for an incognito operation, eh, Stanton?" Will muttered himself.

Then he pushed himself into the matrix of the blue magic.

The shield shuddered and turned bloody red. The sphere immediately recognized an intruder. Will clenched his teeth in pain as magic began to burn and claw mercilessly into Will's mind. The excruciating pain was so real, and for a few moments, Will forgot how to breathe as the shield's energy tore away at his consciousness. Then Will began to shape his spell in his mind. After what seemed like an eternity, Will managed to get enough air to finish his spell.

"C-capio!" he gasped through clenched teeth.

The result was instantaneous.

The shield shuddered again. Will saw the blood red turn a brilliant white. As the shield grew brighter, it became visible to human eyes, and it began to expand. The pure light pulsated energy that seemed to physically shake all of Privet Drive. Rays of light shot up and the Shadows screamed as the light cut its way through their dark cloaks.

In a matter of moments the unearthly shrieking was gone, and the light winked out of existence.

Will staggered once more in his physical body in front of house number 4. Though physically he was fine, the mental strain of the spell was clear upon his face. He knew he had to leave immediately, but still Will stood still for a few moments struggling to catch his breath.

"Ugh… my head…." Will groaned, squinting against the pounding headache. "I am never ever going to do that again…"

Will looked at the shield. Once again the magic was unthreatened and golden in color. However, Will could still sense the stubborn aura of the Dark. The light blast may have harmed the Shadows, but the throbbing of the Dark was ever present in Will's mind.

"God… all that work for nothing," Will rubbed his eyes tiredly. "You really suck you know that, Dark!"

Then Will remembered the frozen boy next to him. An idea formed in Will's head. There was a loud 'BANG!' just down the road and Will knew that he was no longer alone. Working fast, Will took out a small pair of scissors from his pack and snipped off a lock of the fat boy's blonde hair. Will also took a small white marble out of his pocket and placed it inside the fat boy's pocket.

"I am sorry to involve you in this," Will said, "But I will need your help to finish this. Farewell for now."

Will pointed the spread out fingers of his right hand at the boy, and said two Words.

"- you insult me…"

The unfrozen boy finished his sentence with wide eyes. Will Stanton was gone and in his place, seven fully-cloaked Aurors stood before him with their wands pointed unerringly between the boy's eyes. The fat boy said the first intelligent thing that came to his mind.

"Huh?"

oOoOoOoOo

Author's Note:

Wow, huge thank you to all of you who reviewed! Lembas7 is absolutely right in saying that I am relatively new to fanfiction writing. (I can use all the help I can get!) This is my first chapter story so there are challenges like character development and plot consistency that I have never needed to keep in mind before. Norah-hunt and Sweden's Pride, I will try to make the chapters longer too!

This chapter was a little slow… okay, so it was very slow, but I promise to tie these plot threads together soon after my finals. Please bear with me and please, please, please, please keep reviewing!

Thanks a lot guys!

B.S.


	3. Chapter 02: The Witness

**Chapter 2: The Witness**

o.O.o.O.o.O.o

Will squinted against his throbbing headache. Though it had been almost an hour since the incident in Privet Drive, the pain wasn't subsiding. Ahead of him lay the deserted streets of Diagon Alley. Will guessed that it was around 3 in the morning. Dim white lights floated aside the path, lighting the wet cobble stones and casting a ghostly shadow against the dark store windows lining the path. There was however, one exception.

Golden light flickered through the upper windows of Ollivander's wand shop. Will approached the shop's heavy wooden door and watched curiously as lights flashed through the windows. They looked like fireworks – red, gold and even dark violet at times. The post outside showed that Olivander's store would be open at 8:00 and upon checking his pocket watch, Will decided to wait the five hours until opening time. He allowed his heavy knapsack to thud to the floor and settled himself in a nook between the stairs and the heavy wooden door of the store. Slowly Will's head began to nod, his eyes gradually drifted closed, and he surrendered himself to a weary sleep.

o.O.o.O.o.O.o

"You're kidding me!"

"No, I'm afraid not, sir."

"A joke – that's what this is right? Just a joke?"

"Minister?"

"Albus Dumbledore put you up to this didn't he, Kingsley? He told you lay a good one on poor old pathetic Cornelius Fudge. He came right up to you and ordered you to make a bloody fool of the Minister of Magic, didn't he?!"

"No, you're-"

"This is some kind of test isn't it? It's another test to see how competent I am at this job?"

"With all due respect-"

"If you respected me, you won't be contradicting me! If you respected me, you'd have given me a straight answer without making me ask you over and over again! DUMBLEDORE IS BEHIND THIS ISN'T HE?!" roared Cornelius Fudge, his night robes billowing angrily as he whirled to face the fireplace.

Fudge's angry shriek echoed hollowly in the dark, overly ornate bedroom. From his view point in the fireplace, Kinsley could see the even sheen of sweat layering the Minister's red face and hear the uneven hitch in his breathing. Fudge, who up until his final outburst had been furiously pacing in circles around the fireplace, looked every bit like a toddler who had just unleashed a violent tantrum.

"With all due respect, Minster," Kinsley repeated stiffly, "You are mistaken. Headmaster Dumbledore wouldn't have had the time to craft such a powerful spell because most of his energy and attention is diverted to the running Hogwarts."

As he spoke, Kinsley watched the Minister closely through the flames. After a moment, he saw the wild, insanity leave Fudge's eyes. Comprehension filled Fudge's face, and he allowed his shoulders to sag. Turning around he moved slowly to an open liquor cabinet in the far corner of his room. Fudge took out a small glass and poured himself a shot of crimson colored currant rum.

"Who is out on site right now?" asked Fudge, with his back to the fireplace.

The voice that filled the room was now a chillingly calm parody of the Minister's enraged countenance moments before. It was all Kinsley could do to ignore the icy prickling which crept slowly down his neck as he recited the names, ranks and specialties of the Aurors at the Potter house. Fudge, oblivious to Kinsley's uneasiness, downed his glass of alcohol in one swift gulp. He poured himself another as he asked the next question.

"Do you know what caused the flare?"

"No, sir."

"You're telling me that out of seven fully trained Aurors, four of whom have been working for the Ministry for over twenty-five years and three of whom specialize in Forensic Spellology, no one has any idea what just happened?" growled Fudge dangerously as he downing another shot.

"We were only on site five minutes before I apparated back to the Ministry building to contact you. So far we have theories, but no conclusive evidence or leads."

"You said there was a witness – Potter's cousin. You will personally bring him to the ministry and question him with nothing less than Veritaserum."

"But Minister, the use of magic or substances with magical properties on Muggles is strictly prohibited by the Ministry. If word gets out-"

"But it won't get out will it. Incompetence is not something I can stomach, Shacklebolt. Go back to the Potter house. I want answers before dawn."

"Yes, sir."

With a small 'Pop!' Kinsley's head winked out of the fire, leaving Cornelius Fudge alone once again in his darkened bedroom. Withdrawing his head from the low fireplace, Kinsley felt his muscles ache uncomfortably as he slowly stood up. Uncaring about the mess he would make on his office floor, he began to dust the ashes from the fireplace off the front of his robes. The physical motion gave him a moment to find his focus. At the doorway, Nymphadora Tonks stood quietly waiting for Kinsley to acknowledge her. She didn't have to wait long.

"You know, as a general rule, it's impolite to eavesdrop." Kinsley spoke with his back still facing Tonks. Tension was like a visible color upon him. "Why aren't you at Privet, Tonks?"

"It's freezing out there," Tonks replied, her hair comically turning cyan for effect. "I came back for a warmer cloak, else more than just my hair would've turned blue."

"In my office." The statement could easily have been a question.

"Well, you know how it is for a freshman Auror," Tonks said, watching Kinsley carefully, "Everything seems a little uncertain if your supervisor leaves you without warning. Sometimes the mind tricks you into believing things that aren't real."

"Certainly you weren't that lost with me gone only for a few minutes," Kinsley said, amused.

Tonks waited for a better response, but none came. Any other night, Tonks would have continued the banter, but tonight was different. She tried another tactic. "So did Fudge fudge the issue in Privet?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, maybe the dementors?"

Kinsley's hand stopped dusting the ashes from his clothing. The silence stretched, and Tonks knew without asking that her question had been dismissed. She thumped her fist on Kingsley desk in protest. "That's it? That's all I'm going to get? Kingsley, am I valued member of this team or not?"

Just as she thought he'd give her an answer, the moment was broken as he moved again – this time for the cloak hanging off the back of his chair. Kingsley reached over and handed Tonks his spare cloak. "Here, take this. It'll keep you warm outside."

Tonks narrowed her eyes. She stepped away from his outstretched hand. Turning on heel, she exited his office without looking back.

o.O.o.O.o.O.o

Will awoke to find two disturbingly silver eyes staring at him intently and at eye level through the doorway. Will's eyes widened and he jumped slightly in surprise, nearly slipping off the stone step he had been resting on.

"I had been wondering which rabbit-hole you would pick for shelter." The voice came belonged to the man with the silver eyes. "By the way you walked down the path a few hours ago, it was though you were searching for something. I wonder why you'd pick my shop to stop in so early in the morning."

"Sorry, sir. I didn't mean to fall asleep on your doorstep. I only wanted to wait until you opened shop for the morning. Are you Mr. Ollivander?"

"That's my name. I don't open for a couple of hours and I suggest if you're needing a place to sleep, don't solicit one here. Go to the Leaky Cauldron, it's down the road to your left. You can return when the sun is up." Ollivander made to close the door, but Will quickly stood and put his hand against it.

"I didn't come to buy a wand, Mr. Ollivander. I wanted to speak with you about the new wand you are experimenting with."

"There are always new wands with which I am creating. I _am_ a wand crafter by profession. You'll have to do better than that to get into this shop before hours, boy," Ollivander laughed.

Will frowned at the word 'boy', but he persisted. "I know why this particular wand isn't working."

"And why is that?" Ollivander said, deciding to humor Will.

"It's the wood. You cannot use oak as a sheath for something as ancient as the silver leaf."

Before Will could blink, long fingers forced their way around Will's shirt collar and tightened. "How do you know of the leaf?" hissed Ollivander, all humor gone from his voice.

"Rowan. The sheath needs to be carved from a branch of rowan," said Will steadily.

Ollivander's silver eyes looked beyond Will's shoulder, left and right, scanning the misty road and alleyway for people. Then quickly, he pulled Will inside the shop and closed the door with a deep thud. Ollivander brandished his wand in front of Will like a dagger. "I was warned someone would come for the leaf. I was told to watch for the Watcher, but I did not expect to my stalker to be a mere boy."

"I came only to give you advice and it was freely given. And," Will continued pointedly, "If I had wanted to harm you, I would not have waited for you to approach me first."

Ollivander cast Will a look of suspicion, but slowly, he lowered his wand. "What's your name?"

"I'm Will."

"No, your family name."

"Haven't got one. Sorry," Will added when Ollivander shot him another distrustful look. The tension and silence lasted until finally, Will's stomach let out a very loud grumble. Will grabbed his middle with an embarrassed laugh. Ollivander's expression lightened slightly at the sound. In a business that sold wands primarily to eleven-year olds, Ollivander found it difficult to condemn a boy only a few years older. He turned towards a table to his right and gestured at a chair.

"Sit. I will bring some bread from the kitchen. Don't touch anything," Ollivander added with a warning glare.

Will sat down gratefully, "Thank you."

Ollivander snorted and headed out of the room in silence. Will waited until he was out of sight before moving towards the towering shelves laden with wands. Near the back of one of the shelves, Will found the long, narrow box containing hollowed pieces of wands. He knew the base wand had to be there and he quickly found what he was looking for. The sheath had the rough, homogeneous shape every base wand was carved into, but Will noticed that unlike the other sheathes, the outer wood was heavier, aged and richly colored. The wood hummed warmly when Will picked it up.

"I said not to touch anything."

Will stiffened then turned around, "Sorry. I was just curious-"

"Get out," Ollivander snapped, giving Will an infuriated look.

Ollivander snatched the hollow piece of wood from Will's fingers and brandished a wand in his the other hand. Will bent down to pick up his bag then slowly backed away to the entrance of the store. The door swung opened on its own accord and Will barely had enough time to step onto the stairs before the door slammed back into place. Having no where else to really go, Will sat down on the cold stairs and rested his head on the pillows of his arms.

"That could have gone better," Will muttered to himself, "I'm really getting sloppy."

o.O.o.O.o.O.o

Dudley woke feeling more refreshed than he had in weeks. It was a strange waking. He didn't remember falling asleep or for that matter, opening his eyes while his mind regained consciousness. He didn't completely comprehend where he was or what had happened, but he knew for sure something wasn't right, not even the noise. He heard the frustration in the voices around him before he heard the words. It was an argument.

"-- otherwise, the Ministry can't let him just walk out unquestioned. He's our only witness, and for all we know he could have done it."

"You think he's capable of such a thing?"

"Can't rule anything out yet, Weasley. At any rate, you are out of line coming here. I have no idea how you knew to come, but this does not concern you."

"He's a Muggle boy! What kind of magic do you think he can cast?"

"Weasley, go home! Those were illegal charms you placed on the Potter house and you're not even supposed to be here."

"I told you why I placed them – I wanted to make sure that George, Fred and Ron didn't do any more mischief around here. But that doesn't matter! You keep the boy in a cell for questioning and if word gets out… Rita Skeeter will have a field day, and this is a PR disaster just waiting to happen."

Dudley wondered for a moment who they were talking about. From the corner of his eye, he could see the heavy purple cloak and made out the dim outline of red hair from the man named Weasley. Had he been paying more attention, Dudley would have noticed that his neck and head were firmly frozen into a paralyzed stasis. The thing that caught his eye the most, however, was the hand gripping a stick which looked suspiciously like a wand. A wizard. Dudley's eyes widened and an irrational panic flooded his mind.

"The press can say what ever they want. We cannot jeopardize our position by allowing him to go out of our jurisdiction,"

"Exactly whose position are you talking about, Kingsley?" hissed Arthur Weasley.

Someone near Dudley's started clapping deliberately and both men broke their conversation. From the corner of his eye, he saw a dark figure in a heavy black cloak smirking at them with unreserved mirth. "The Deputy Head of Investigations for the Ministry of Magic and the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office bickering like boys on the playground," he smirked, "Brilliant."

"Snape."

"Oh, don't stop on my account. I enjoy watching grown men making complete fools of themselves," Snape made a slight sweeping gesture with his hand, "Feel free to continue."

"What are you doing here?" asked Arthur.

"Wasting my time. What does it look like?"

"I asked him to come," interrupted Kingsley before Arthur could retort, "Snape, did you bring it?"

Dudley watched as from within the dark folds of his cloak, the man named Snape withdrew a small glass vial filled with colorless liquid and held it between his thumb and forefinger. "I trust you know how to administer it," said Snape. "Three drop dosage and refrain from use if the subject is exerting himself."

"You're giving a Muggle boy Veritaserum," Arthur said distantly, disbelievingly. "The depths you have fallen, Kingsley." Without another word, he turned and left Dudley's field of vision. Dudley heard a familiar 'BANG!' and knew that the wizard had gone.

Still, however, it was becoming harder and harder for Dudley to focus. The thought of two wizards, both with wands at the ready, made Dudley anxious. It was feeling which doubled at the knowledge that he was completely helpless. What would they do to him next? As the man named Kingsley knelt next to his head, Dudley desperately tried in vain to turn away. Kingsley tapped his wand to Dudley's arm and Dudley felt a spark of warmth. Over head he heard a smooth, sardonic voice offer commentary.

"It's easier to pour the potion in his mouth if he's immobilized," said Snape.

"I need you to double check something first."

Dudley felt the warmth spread down his arm, across his body and to his fingertips. In a matter of moments, he could feel his legs and a slight tingling in his muscles as if his body was waking from sleep. But it was only a partial wakening. While Dudley could now feel slightly the environment around him, he still could not move. The wizards were still there and the irrational panic remained. As the cold paralysis was driven away, Dudley felt his heart beating faster. His eyes flicked freely from one wizard's face to the next, and his palms becoming slick with sweat.

"Well, Snape. Is he fit for the potion?"

Cool fingers slipped over Dudley's wrist and held firm when he tried to flinch away. Seconds ticked away and Dudley's heart hammered in his chest.

"No."

"I thought so too," a rustle of clothing and Kingsley stood up from his kneeling position, "He needs to kept in custody until the Veritaserum can be used, and as uninformed Arthur may have been, he is right. The boy cannot be held in the Ministry building – the press would see to that."

"Dumbledore only asked me to come here to deliver the Veritaserum you asked for. Everything else is your problem."

Snape made to leave, but Kingsley caught his shoulder. "Take him to Hogwarts."

"You're joking."

"The Ministry will be free of questions from the press and if someone's looking for him, he will be one child in hundreds. Not withstanding, Hogwarts is one of the safest places in the wizarding world," Kingsley spoke quickly, "Dumbledore would agree with me."

"Who will look after him?"

Kingsley shrugged, "Give him to Hagrid. Put him in an empty tower. Find a spare cell in the dungeon. Anything as long as he's protected until we get answers. Will you take him?"

Snape looked as if he would rather do anything except deal with Dudley, but grudgingly he flicked his wand at Dudley's body. Dudley felt a sharp tug and everything went dark

o.O.o.O.o.O.o

**Author's Note:**

There's something amazing when even after 2 years of dormancy, people keep reading and reviewing this story. Thank you to all your wonderful comments! My humble apologies to those of you who have asked for faster writing, but with school and work, it's difficult to keep up with everything. Just so you all know though, this story is far from abandoned and I've still have some territory to explore with Will's journey and character. To questions about Will's age: I haven't pinpointed an exactly how old he is, but then again, Will is one of those characters who can work both as a young person and as an Old One. In my head, he's an adult with teenage tendencies. It's been a nice challenge defining the two sides of Will. Please forgive the slight OOCness because I still am hashing out the details of Will's character.

Some of you have been asking if Bran or Harry will be showing up anytime soon. I would like to work in Bran somehow, but as for Harry... I'm not so sure. Truth be told, I'm paranoid about writing 2 'good guys' beacuse I'm afriad they will both blend into one character. Until I work up the nerve, I don't think I will write about Harry directly. But we'll see as how it goes. So! If you have the time, please tell me what you think about the story so far. I'd love to hear more from you all. Thank you again for reading!


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